Monthly Archives: December 2012

On December 27th we celebrated our ninth anniversary. It has been nine years since we walked out, thinner and younger and much more idealistic, onto the front steps of the church I belonged to all my life, and blinked in the December sunshine, starting our new life together. I love my husband dearly, but in these nine years I have sometimes wondered how married people could say that they loved their spouses more than they did on their wedding day. Because marriage is hard, and how could the love sustaining years of marriage compare to the gleaming romance of a bride and groom, resplendent in their most beautiful clothes and blissfully ignorant of all the hardships and sorrows and fights and dirty diapers and home improvement disasters to come?

But in the last year I have looked at my husband, on car rides and home movie nights and family marches through the zoo and dark evenings when he comes home laden with groceries, and known that I do love him more than I did on that shining day and in a dress that no longer fits. All that has come to us, in the nine intervening years, has left behind a love that is deeper, graver, more knowledgeable and more grateful.

I struggle to know what to say about anniversaries. I think hard about my words, and it doesn’t feel right to post a cheery facebook status about “nine wonderful years”. They haven’t all been wonderful years: they are studded with happy memories, but also laced with the ache of stubborn struggles. In the early years, I wanted to scream when people remarked casually about what a honeymoon the first few years of marriage are. Maybe some marriages feature that, but ours certainly didn’t. We had a moment of enlightenment, a couple of years ago, when it occurred to us that we both came to our marriage with firm wills and strong personalities, used to getting our own way and stunned when intelligent people disagreed with us. It’s a volatile combination. We have mellowed, I think–learned to roll our eyes and move on, to not make a soul-searching and life-evaluating episode out of everything, and perhaps, perhaps, just maybe to give up trying to cram the other person into our ideal mold.

So these have been nine good years, in what they have brought about. I trust they open onto many more years that will be even better, building on this foundation. After nine years, it feels like there is solid ground under our feet. Not freedom from turmoil and not, especially in the last year, the absence of tears–but a place to stand together.

So happy anniversary, my dear, whom I love more today than I did then.

Every year I look forward to taking family pictures. My husband has learned to put up with me. He bears patiently with my circular deliberations about our outfits, and then he wrangles small arms and legs into the clothes I set out. He’s not a fan of cameras, but he smiles patiently. My children are used to having a lens in their faces, but we also bribe them heavily. And I think a perfect picture is a natural, happy one–not necessarily one in which every hair is in place and everyone’s eyes are fixed firmly on the camera. That’s probably a good thing, because we don’t get any of the latter. It’s chaotic and hilarious and frustrating, but I treasure having a series of pictures that capture a moment in our family’s life, just as we are now.

Our wedding pictures were largely disappointing. Every year I am thankful to get a few more of the two of us, in the natural style that I wanted for our wedding–but didn’t know, then, how to find.

Daddy and his big boy.

Running. If you know my children, it will not surprise you at all to learn that the boys were pretending to be trains. Whatever it takes.

This is the perfect shot of our girl: sunlit, laughing, and moving so fast she flies.

I love the hand on his little sister’s shoulder.

My love.

The boys are very occupied with the bridge–and E, of course, is airborne again.

My favorite smiles in the world.

A little hug on the side.

.

My dear friend Katie took these pictures. She knows our family well and she charmed my kids utterly–as I knew she would. I’m deeply thankful for the priceless memories these pictures hold. Thank you, Katie!

My baby boy is too old for naps. I have reluctantly come to terms with it, and traded his shortened nap (which was resulting in a desperately cranky evening) for a “rest time” in his room with books and toys. He curls up with a pile of library books and the heady knowledge that he is responsible enough to get up and fetch other toys from the room if he wants them. He considers himself very grown up now.

And our evenings are much more pleasant. But my mother’s heart cannot fathom, looking at the same wide eyes and curved lips that adorned my baby, how he grew up quite so fast.

On St. Nicholas Day, embracing the camera with my goofy afternoon-school buddy…

…who would like everyone to know that he has lost his first tooth:

There was actually an abundance of drama about the loose tooth. He was convinced that all his teeth were going to fall out at once, and loath to hear any suggestions of pulling it. It finally fell out after an ironically well-timed punch in the mouth from an aggrieved brother. The brother was reprimanded, of course–but we were secretly relieved. Brotherly conflict has its uses, apparently.

This year was our first to truly involve our kids in celebrating Halloween. In the past we’ve handed out candy, but not gone trick-or-treating–largely because the boys’ serious food allergies made that seem like a risky operation. To be honest, I have not always liked Halloween, and I still don’t like the ghoulish aspects of it. I personally cannot fathom small children in zombie makeup, or junior high-ers wandering the neighborhood looking like the grisly victims of a horror movie and frightening babies. No gravestones in the front yard and creepy music emanating from the doorway for me. But I do like cute Halloween–classic, wholesome costumes, jack-o-lanterns, and the camaraderie of neighbors, most of whom will not knock on my door again until next year.

So we carved pumpkins for our front steps. Incredibly, it was my husband’s first time making jack-o-lanterns. His handiwork is on the left–his first try was a great success! The kids ran around the house in the dark marveling at our pumpkins–which E promptly christened “Daddy, Mama, and Baby.” Everything is about parents and babies right now with her.

And our little people dressed as a fireman, a knight, and a strawberry:

Varying degrees of enthusiasm for picture-taking.

Then C started getting into it.

The fireman and the knight deep in conversation.

My little strawberry.

Ready for battle.

A handsome fireman…

…who then felt it necessary to pose upside-down.

All ready to go trick-or-treating.

Our first trick-or-treating adventure almost ended a few days before it began, when my husband casually alluded to a business trip on the 31st. He maintained he told me about this months ahead of time, and I maintained we had had multiple conversations about how we were going to manage trick-or-treating–even specifying its hours and the date. We both stared at each other. Fortunately no one got upset (read this with heavy sarcasm and you’ll get the idea). I was utterly overwhelmed by the thought of herding three trick-or-treaters and managing the candy handout and bedtime all at once. And then our dear friend Sarah came to the rescue:

The kids were thrilled to have one of their favorite friends along, I had fun with her, and it was especially helpful since a certain little strawberry sprinted down every block while the boys lagged far behind. I spent most of the evening running to intercept her at street corners. She always stops, precipitously, right before the curb. But I have to be there in case she doesn’t.

When we got home (and I had hidden the candy to replace it with allergy-safe treats), the boys went to the backyard to play with Sarah while E camped out on the front steps with me and our basket of candy to distribute. This was her favorite part of the night, even before it started. She could hardly contain herself at the thought of how much fun it would be.

“Mommy!” she squealed, her fists full of candy. “When some people come, they will be SO HAPPY when they see ME!”

She waited breathlessly, her eyes trained down the street, while I willed someone to come around the corner.

“Look, Mommy! I see someone! Someone is COMING! We have to give them CANDY!”

She could never wait for the trick-or-treaters to walk all the way to the steps; as soon as they neared our driveway, she was trotting toward them, candy at the ready. Her costume and her high-pitched “You’re welcome!” made her a number of admirers.

Waiting for more customers.

When it began to get chilly, I persuaded her to watch from inside, where she was glued to the door for most of the night. It was a happy Halloween–especially for her.

.

Our Thanksgiving began with my favorite tradition: a morning race. This year I was the photography and cheering crew, while my mom watched the kids on the playground and my dad and J ran the race.

Dad ran a personal best: 23:00. He’s amazing. As usual, he won his age bracket.

J at the finish. (In the dark blue on the left). Unlike some, he chose to wear a shirt that day. (It was warm for November here…but still.)

C, with his hat hung up on his ears, waiting for the kids’ race to begin.

B with his game face on.

E in her running gear.

And they’re off!

E, my best little runner, was unenthusiastic. I think it’s because we started our kids toward the back (to avoid trampling) and that girl likes to win.

Sporting their medals. E was more interested in collecting all our water bottles into a bag.

Back at the house, we spread the feast. And B learned one of the most important lessons of Thanksgiving: if you hang out in the kitchen…